Player Two
by krisella
Summary: He'd always been second best. He ran away and became a rebel. His life became filled with moments of him leaving friends and areas for good, alone. Suddenly, he gets introduced to a new and exciting sport: Pong. That very day, Player Two signs up.


Here it was, the ultimate show down.

He had trained his entire life for challenges like this. As a child he had always dreamed of the dangerous life. His parents hated it about him. He never was a dream child; his grades were low and his athletic abilities were slim. He always was second best to his sister. People often complained about his lack of ability to move in three dimensions. Still he dreamed of another life, one filled with adventure and mishap. He wasn't a dream child, but he was a dreaming child.

When he turned sixteen he traveled north and never returned. He found an outcast group that dreamed of things just like him. Together, with their different shapes and personalities, they created their own adventures and challenges. They called their group 'Tetris.'

He was one of the 4X1 bars, white in colour. The life was fun and challenging, and he made the most use of his existence. He felt proud. Everyone was a friend with him. He gained a particularly close friendship with a green 'S' shaped block. They both enjoyed their experience with Tetris, but dreamed of a more dangerous life, one with a purpose. One year went by. He never had felt so happy.

But it wasn't made to last. Soon Tetris started gaining popularity. He couldn't risk this much fame; he was still too young be on his own traveling with a group like this. So he left.

WANTED posters soon went up featuring a straight white bar by the name of Player Two. He didn't care; he had disguised himself by painting himself a dull yellow colour. Another year past.

By now Player Two had learned the tough life of an outcast. His paint had long since faded, but the dirt and filth of an outcast's life had stained him a light brown colour. He lived his life as a rebel. He gained a friend. His name was Dig Dug, or Doug for short. Player Two took a few yoga classes and then ran out before paying. He was a rebel and a thief. With his newfound stretching skills he stretched and attached himself to Doug's pump. Doug was all about digging. They had made their home underground, only going above ground when absolutely necessary. No matter how much Player Two enjoyed his time with Doug, this too was not the place for him. Once again he left without a trace.

He staggered into a nearby city. There were posters advising young men to join the military. He gained the itch and drafted himself.

His job was to defend the earth from the invaders from space. He gained a few military buddies. One of them was someone he recognized. It was the green 'S' shaped figure from his days in Tetris. Greeting him enthusiastically, they, along with Player Two's other friends he gained in the military, formed a band. Not the musical sort of band, the band of buddies. They created a name for themselves: Space Invaders. Memories of his year with Tetris flooded back to him. He choked back tears. He was in the military now, and soldiers don't cry.

One of his buddies drove the military tank and he operated the gun. He shot countless alien ships. He was good at it. He had thought he had found his home, his place, when he missed. An ally ship containing his green 'S' shaped friend was fighting nearby when an alien ship shot and hit the ship. It exploded, and then disappeared. Player Two panicked and searched the sky, but his friend had had no lives left. He was gone forever.

There had been only one alien ship left for Player Two, but with his panicky state he had been shooting at random and not with strategy. It landed and destroyed his ship. The alien, mistaking him for dead, left. He was recruited to the hospital. The horrible experience replayed itself in his mind over and over again. He couldn't stay; it was too much. He couldn't watch his friends die while he was brutally attacked. That was when he knew that he was doomed to live his life alone. The war never finished. It seemed that there was no way to completely defeat the aliens. The only thing possible was to defeat one fleet, or 'level', at a time. He left.

Five years later, in deep depression, he found himself at a bar. He met a girl there.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," he answered. She eyed his uniform.

"How long were you in the army for?"

"Half a year."

They tried to get together, but it didn't really work out. She told him good-bye. It was the first time someone had left him before he left them.

Three years past. Player Two found himself half way across the country when he noticed an ad and a signup sheet.

"Welcome everybody! Today we are beginning your first day of tennis!"

Player Two was excited. This was what he had signed up for, something new and healthy. Maybe he would settle down in this city and spend his days playing tennis. He had watched enviously as a child those athletes with their racquets and athletic skill. Maybe he could do it, too.

"Today we will work on hitting and returning the ball. Do not worry about hitting it over the net; that's not important yet. All right, you may begin. I'll walk around and help you guys."

His first challenge was the racquet. It didn't work out for him.

"Need help?" the instructor lady asked.

"Yah," he said.

"What's the problem then?" she asked with a smile.

"It's...this racquet. These just aren't my thing."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Well, they kinda are of key importance to playing tennis, you know." She smiled. "Don't worry, I'm sure with some practice you'll get it!"

He doubted it. "I think I have a solution. May I try to play without the racquet?"

Her jaw dropped. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Nope."

"But you can't play tennis without the racquet!"

"Sure I can. I've done stranger things before."

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"Of course not."

"No, I cannot teach you to play tennis without a racquet. I don't even know if it's _legal_."

"Of course it is. I won't get arrested for it."

"That's not what I meant."

"Look, just give me one try without a racquet ok? And if my idea doesn't work then I'll work hard to be your best student with a racquet, okay?"

She crossed her arms. "Hmm. I'll give you _one_ try, and then after that you're on your own for the day. I have other people to help you know."

"Of course."

She walked over to the other side of the court. She grabbed a ball and threw it into the air, then swung down hard. He watched the ball fly over to his side of the court. It bounced off the ground, then headed straight for him. He concentrated. Closer it came...closer...closer...

Bloop bloop! The noise resounded throughout the entire gymnasium. The ball hit Player Two, causing a _bloop_ to sound, and then it hit the ground, causing another _bloop_, and soared over the net onto the other side. From there is bounced once...twice...three times...

The instructor stood there in disbelief. She ignored the ball. "Oh my gosh...that was...how did you...?" Pride filled within Player Two.

From then on it was history. He almost never missed, a pure natural he was. No matter how fast it came at him he struck back. Bloop bloop! Bloop bloop! Bloop bloop!

He was a master in the making. Countless hours were spent practicing. He started to learn skills: the closer on his side he hit the ball, the more of an angle it traveled. He could slow the ball down by hitting it in his center. There were countless other tips and tidbits that piled upon one another. He was unstoppable, a star pupil.

One day as he was just beginning a hard practice session to master a new skill his instructor came running in.

"Hey! What are you doing here? It's after-class hours," he said.

"Player Two! You'll never guess what I found!" She exclaimed. She ran up to him and started gasping for air; it appeared as though she had been running for quite some time.

"Yes?" he asked after she had regained her breath.

"It's amazing! Wonderful! You'll love it!"

"What is it?"

"Look!" she said, thrusting a piece of paper forward. There, in her hands, was an ad. He read it thoroughly.

"Join the Pong tournament? What's that?" he asked, confused.

"I was researching the way you play tennis, you know, without a racquet? I soon stumbled upon this sport called Pong. It's filled with people just like you, white bars who hit without racquets. I bought a ticket today to watch a match. It was held in an area a few hours north of here. It was amazing! I took notes the entire time! Afterwards I was just leaving the building when I saw this ad."

"REALLY?" He asked.

"Yes! There are a few differences, but it's close to tennis. The ball is all white and doesn't bounce."

"It doesn't bounce?"

"No! It hovers in the air and gets shot back and forth. The boundaries are these translucent walls. When the ball hits the wall it gets shot forward at a different angle. Oh you just have to see it! It's impossible to hit out of bounds. In order to qualify for the tournament you are set up on a court with an automatic opponent on the other side."

"Automatic?"

"It always hits the ball back, no matter what. It's not a real player, just a computer. Every time you hit the ball you gain one point. It hits the ball back with increasing difficulty. Once you reach a certain amount of points you qualify for the tournament, but if you miss the ball twice you lose."

"That sounds amazing."

"Oh it is! You just have to join!"

So he did. He trained hard and long, and a few weeks later she drove him to the qualifying rounds an hour and a half away. That's where he gained his first glimpse at the Pong Stadium.

It was amazing. 40 feet tall with a 64-bit structure. There was no design; it was a tall pure white rectangle with one doorway (but no door) and no windows. He gaped in awe at its extremity.

The only chance of Player Two entering the building was if he qualified for the tournament. His current destination was a few buildings next to it. It was similar to the Pong Stadium, but about half the size. He walked in to see a billion white rectangles all chatting and waiting to compete. The structure of the room itself was simple, if not a little worn out. It was shaped like a gymnasium, with a basketball hoop and all, except the floors were white and there were numbers on the walls in front of each court. The numbers were all set to zero and there were about five courts in total. On the top of the wall was a large number one. In the back of the courts were stairs and three elevators leading up to an identical room. He had a feeling that almost every room in this building was identical.

He was sent to court 4 on level 17. Shaking in nervousness he and his instructor entered an elevator.

"You ready for this?" She asked him.

"I've always been ready, since the moment I was born."

She rolled her eyes and smiled.

The elevator opened to reveal another identical gym (as he has expected) except this one had a large 17 on the wall. He walked over to the fourth court and they both retreated to the back wall because someone was currently occupying it. They waited for him to finish. He glanced around at all of the competitors vigorously attacking the ball as it flew back towards them. Often there was a cry of agitation and disappointment, usually followed by an annoying buzzing sound symbolizing that the competitor's last try had failed. The competitor would then slowly move towards the elevator. Much less often than he liked he would here the _ding_ that symbolized the competitor had successfully reached the qualification score.

Ding! His attention snapped towards the person occupying court four. "Yes!" The competitor yelled in triumph. A man walked towards him.

"Congratulations. You've qualified for the tournament. Here, this is yours," he said, handing him a few items. "Check in with the main office." The competitor strutted off in glory. "NEXT!" The man yelled. He looked at the two lone figures by the back wall.

She nudged him. "You're next," she hissed more forcefully than she had meant. The man tapped his foot in his impatience.

"W-what? Me?" Player Two asked, suddenly nervous.

"Yes!" She pushed him forward.

He neared the man. "Name?" he asked, looking down at his clipboard.

"Player Two."

The man looked up in disbelief.

"Player Two," he repeated, unsure if the man had misheard him or not. The man grunted and dropped his gaze to scribble down his name.

"Age?" He asked without looking up. He answered. The man asked a few more questions, then, satisfied, he motioned for Player Two to stand at the white line on the end of the court. When he got there the man informed, "Keep your gaze in the center of the court. The ball will appear there and head towards you. Just relax and focus on returning the ball," he said as if he had heard that line somewhere before. "Your goal is to reach 400. Good luck," he said, caring less.

The man walked over to the 'automatic player' (which was just a white bar with electrical wires inside of it that had the ability to move it left and right depending on where the ball is coming from) and pressed a button on its right side. The score on the wall reset itself to zero. He then walked off the court and pulled out a remote with two buttons on it. "Ready?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Ok then...go," he said. He then pressed the top button.

The boundaries for the court suddenly lit up in a plain white colour. He looked at it in confusion until his instructor yelled, "It's coming!" He snapped to attention just in time to notice a while orb moving towards him at a leisurely pace. He moved just enough to hit it. As it made contact he noticed the zero on the wall in front of him change to one. Only 399 left.

Back and forth the ball went between the automatic player and himself. At 100 he was feeling a little tired. By 200 he had worked up a sweat. He was becoming exhausted near 300 when he made his first mistake.

The difficulty had been constantly increasing. His concentration had started to go a bit and he had thought the ball had traveled in an opposite direction. When it didn't arrive he became confused, that is until he heard the _bzzz_ of the buzzer. He had lost his first live. If he lost another he wouldn't qualify.

When the ball materialized once again he decided he wouldn't hold back any longer. He went all out on the automatic player, and just as he was about to pass out he heard a heavenly sound. Ding! "Yes!" he yelled out. He turned around to cheer with her, but stopped short when he saw her face. Something was wrong. He turned around to look at the score. 395. He was five short of qualifying. He looked at the man.

"Technical difficulty," he explained. "Don't worry." He pressed the button on the remote to turn off the border lights. Walking over to the automatic player he reset a few things inside, then set the score back to zero. "All you need to do is hit it five more times. Easy stuff, right?"

"No." He was near the point if passing out. He didn't think he could last much longer.

"Well tough. You only got 395. You need five more." He walked off and started the machine before he could protest. The ball flew at him with incredible speed. He barely hit it. It returned. He nearly fell trying to get it. Three left. He almost fainted. Two. He would die, what was he doing? One. Someone kill him. Do it now.

"Congratulations," the man said, turning off the machine. "You qualified."

Later on he would faintly remember receiving a ticket of some sort, a blue bracelet, and a certificate, some other things happening, then him passing out in the car.

Time passed. The next month flew by in a blur. He trained every chance he got. Soon the day of the tournament arrived. She drove him to the Pong Stadium. He felt as though his heart would explode in his chest. They entered the stadium. They showed the guard the blue bracelet for his identification as a competitor and the ticket for her to sit in the audience and watch.

He was sent to a waiting room (an entirely blank room) and told to wait until someone arrived for his first match. It didn't feel real. He wasn't really here, was he? He was just a white bar, a plain and simple white bar that ran away at sixteen. How did he manage to make it all the way here, to a big tournament?

An hour passed. He had been told there were 154 different competitors. He was number 64. A man walked in.

"It's time," he said. He was led to the match.

He won.

He won again.

And again.

The more matched he played the higher his rank got. He couldn't believe his success.

Soon he was rank #2. Which meant there was only one rank left.

#1.

He stepped onto the court. The courts were quite amazing. In the gym they had been plain and simple. Here it was simply amazing. The floors and walls were completely black and the lighting was dim, except in the court. There was one dotted line separating the court in half. The border was an entirely lit up white box. The ball was completely white. The blackness complemented the light to make it seem dark and bright at the same time.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the match you've all been waiting for, the FINAAAAAAL ROUUUUUUUUUUND!" An ear shattering cheer resounded throughout the court. "Thank you! Thank you! And now, the man no one expected, the rookie, the amazing Player Two!"

He stepped out onto the court. Cheers went wild. Woman screeched like banshees. Men yelled like bears. He was the center of attention for the first time in his life.

And then it was over. "And now, the one you've all been waiting for, the continuing champion, the undefeated, the amazing, the brilliant, the defender...Player One!"

Player...One? Woman screeched like banshees caring for their banshee twins. Men yelled like bears with their arms newly cut off. Were they yelling for Player One, or for the match itself?

"Yes, we have quite a coincidence today! It seems both of the challengers have the same first name! What are the chances?"

"No way," he said.

There she was, in all her glory. She slowly glided onto the court, letting in all of the screams and cheers from fans. She moved deliberately, with passion and meaning. She was tough. She was serious. She was his...

"SiStEr?" he asked in alarm. Her smiling gaze stopped and jerked slightly towards him.

"No way," she said, "You... you disappeared."

There was a large gasp from the crowd.

"Ooooooooh! It appears our contestants know each other! It also seems to be as much as a surprise to us as it is to them!" the announcer yelled.

"Shut up," she said. Another gasp resounded.

"Ooooooooooh."

"He's just a competitor, nothing else." She gazed at him. "My real brother disappeared a long time ago."

A third gasp.

"SHUT UP!" they both yelled.

The crowd was silent.

"One, it's me, don't you recognize me?" he asked.

"Don't talk to me with that pet name. All I see is some loser rookie who thinks he can make it to the top with cheap tricks."

The crowd _ooh_ed.

His heart felt broken. "I had bigger dreams...no one looked up at me..."

_Awwwwwww_

"Awe _save_ me your pathetic life story. I didn't come here to listen to some soap opera story of a low life _freak_," she spat out the last word.

_ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh_

"But...sis...-"

"_SHUT UP_! MY REAL BROTHER IS _DEAD_! DO YOU HEAR ME? _DEAD_!"

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!*_

They stared at each other for a few minutes. The announcer moved towards the two nearly identical white bars. "Umm, this is all very touching, but they paid some very good money to watch this match, you know," he said, motioning towards the crowd.

_Ya!_

"If you guys are done..." he was sympathetic towards them, but he was also anxious and afraid that one of them might quit. You couldn't blame him; if one of them quit the audience would practically attack him.

"I'm fine, it's just a game!" she snapped, "unless of course, baby over there wants to forfeit."

He moved back slightly. "No way. This is more than a game to me; it's my life. I _live_ for pong. It gave me happiness."

_Awww._

The announcer seemed relieved. "All right then, let's get started." He put his microphone to his mouth. "SEEMS WE HAVE SOME INTENSE SIBLING RIVALRY HERE! THIS IS SURE TO BE ONE HECK OF A MATCH! LET'S GET STARTED!"

The crowd roared to life. The announcer stepped off the court and brought out a remote. Every light except for the ones targeting the court dimmed.

"FIRST ONE TO 11 WINS. GET READY..."

They both took their places.

"GET SET..."

She was shooting bullets at him with her stare. He was getting pumped.

"...GOOOOOO!"

The borders lit up. A ball appeared and gently headed towards her. In that moment everything else disappeared. The crowd, the announcer, the noises, everything was gone. Only the ball, court, and opponent remained. They were both angry at each other.

She moved so the ball hit her very side, causing it to speed up. He did the same. The ball was going fast. She repeated. So did he. The ball was nearly to fast to follow. Back and forth they did this. After a certain point the ball could go no faster. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. Slightly slower than you could blink an eye it traveled between them. Sweat poured out of him. She was angry. She was fighting with her anger. He would do the same.

Back forth back forth back forth. He reached for it. He was beginning to get used to the constant rhythm. Suddenly she hit it while moving in the same direction. It zigzagged towards him. He couldn't follow it. It was too much. It passed him.

_Bzzz!_ She scored one point.

The ball materialized. It shot towards him. He tried the same thing. Back forth back forth.

_Bzzz!_ She scored again, much faster this time.

He was angry. He started hitting the ball as devilish as he could.

_Bzzz!_

_Bzzz!_

_Bzzz!_

The score was zero to five. She was playing with him. He was angry, so angry...

And then he wasn't. Things slowed down. He breathed like he had been taught in yoga. He kept his mind cool like he had been taught in the army. He had to think this through. What he was trying wasn't working. He needed to change his tactics.

She hit it towards him. He hit it back gently, buying time.

He watched the way she was hitting it. He put it together, like a puzzle, like...Tetris.

He knew what to do. She hit it back with speed. He hit it back with gentleness. She was confused. She hit it again on the side. It sped up. He slowed it down. Sped it up. Slowed it down. She kept speeding it up two steps forward. He kept slowing it down one step back. Because he wasn't slowing it down to its full extent it eventually sped up to an extreme speed. That was exactly what he wanted. She was used to it slowing down. When it came back at him, he hit it in the corner of his body. It sped up and zigzagged a few times.

_Bzzz!_ He had scored. For a moment he heard the crowd roar and the announcer say, "ISN'T THAT AMAZING..." Amazing...amazing...amazing...the words echoed and quieted down. They both disappeared again.

He continued to hit it back and forth with tricks and logic rather than anger and strength. Tricks he had learned in Tetris, tricks he had learned in tennis. Tricks he learned with the Doug when trapping those pesky critters.

The score was ten to ten. Last chance.

They passed the ball back and forth. She was learning his tricks and expected them. Every turn he tried she was one step ahead of him. She knew what to expect. He only knew to expect that she was going expect anything he tried...

That's it. He knew what to do. The answer was right there in front of him. When he was with the Space Invaders, he and the rest would sometimes shoot through their own shield. It seemed foolish, but it was brilliant. They only shot a slim line, about the width of your thumb, after parking the tank directly underneath the shield. One shot, two, three, four, five. After five shots the laser would completely shoot through the shield, creating a hole large enough for the tank to shoot through and hit enemies, but small enough for the aliens to never hit them back, unless they shoot through the shield themselves or have perfect aim.

In short, what looked destructive turned out to be genius. That was exactly what he had to do. First, he needed the ball sped up to its maximum speed.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

After some hard work he managed it. She seemed like she knew what he was trying to do, but he guessed she had something entirely different in mind.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed after just reaching a particularly difficult shot made from Player Two.

Back and forth. He had to do it now, or else risk missing the ball. He waited till he knew which direction she would hit the ball in, and then headed for the opposite direction. She hit the ball. He had to wait for the proper timing. Wait...now!

He sped off in the direction of where the ball would arrive, and didn't stop. He purposely had started to speed slightly before the ball would arrive. If he kept traveling just as fast, he would speed past the ball's arrival point.

He kept going. She saw what everyone else saw, but just before they realized it, and started to cheer. She won! She won! She won.

For him, it was like slow motion. He heard her start to cheer, but at a slower speed.

"Y-y-y-y-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s!"

The ball was arriving, and he was leaving. He was going to miss it, or so it seemed. The ball was about to arrive where his end currently was, but wouldn't be in less than a second. Just as the ball arrived he slowed down slightly, not much, but enough.

Bloop!

It bounced off his very corner. It zigzagged at an extreme intensity. She had about five seconds.

1

She stopped cheering.

2

_No_

3

_Way_

4

She blinked and tried to ready herself for its arrival, but she didn't have enough time. She would...would...

5

Lose.

_Bzzz!_

She lost.

The crowd erupted. It was as if someone had ripped the sky in two. He swore he would turn deaf. The announcer ran up to him and cheered in his microphone with praises and congratulations, but he hardly heard it. Everything was still slowed down. He had won. He had done something right.

"S-o-o P-p-l-a-y-e-r-r T-t-w-o-o-o, w-w-h-a-t-t d-o-e-e-s- i-i-t- f-e-e-e-l-l-l l-i-i-k-e?" the man asked in the announcer.

She glared at him, turned, and left. That exit of hers was the slowest his life ever felt. And suddenly, she was gone. He never saw her after that day.

Time suddenly fell back into place, and he nearly was flown to the wall by the volume of the crowd's screaming. She had left him. He was alone again. Alone...

He gazed into the crowd and, for the first time, noticed his instructor. She was cheering and whooping loudly. Suddenly she leaped from the audience and ran to his side. After assuring security that she was a friend, he stood proudly by her. She smiled down on him.

"I guess we'll have to double our training from now on, hey?" she asked.

"What?" he yelled.

"...Nothing," she said, smiling.

And for once in his life, for the very first time, Player Two was on top. He was the best. But that wasn't why he was excited. That wasn't why he was happy.

You see, for the first time in his life, he didn't feel alone.

_Enjoyed it? Review and tell me your answer!_

_*Author's note: it has been two years I believe since I wrote this story. In those two years my writing skills have increased an incredible amount. Today, June 14, 2010, I stopped to take the time to reread my story of yore. I laughed and smirked at the pure mediocrity of it all, as well as the overly dramatic and cliché plot twists. Seriously, I thought it would be clever if Player One was his sister? And then I made her yell that her real brother was dead? XD_

_This is a nice, valuable story of my younger teenage life, and I cherish the pure innocence and cliché attitude of it all. I thank all who have taken the time to read it, and I hope you have enjoyed this story of yore._


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